Nightingale
by The Fountian Pen
Summary: The mission had been simple. Infiltrate Coulson's team, gain their trust, and discover the secret of his miraculous recovery, and most of all don't form attachments should have been easy, Grant Ward had done it hundreds of times before. Then Dark Elves invaded London. And a decade of lies came crashing down alt his feet leaving Ward questioning where his loyalties. Thor Crossover


A/N: Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers, Captain America, or Thor it is without prejudice property of Marvel Comics/Entertainment/Studios Christopher Markus, Stephen McFeely, Anthony Russo, Joe Russo, Joe Simon, Jack Kirby, Marvel Studios, Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures, Joss Whedon, Stan Lee, Jack do I own Marvel's Agents of SHEILD; it is property of Joss Whedon, Jed Whedon,Maurissa Tancharoen,Stan Lee, Alan Fine, Joe Quesada, Jeffery Bell, Jeph Loeb,Garry A. Brown, ABC Studios, Mutant Enemy Productions, Marvel Television, and Disney ABC demestic television. Nor do I own the X-Men, it too is without prejudice property of Marvel Comics/ Entertainment, 20th Century Fox, Marvel Entertainment, The Donners' Company. I own only my original characters. In other words, if you recognize it I don't own it. I own only my original characters. In other words, if you recognize it I don't own it.I claim ownership of only my original characters. If contacted this will be removed.

A/N: also I'm aging Ward down a few years. So in this he is about twenty-eight.

Today was her birthday.

Their birthday.

With the type of childhood Grant had endured, he found little joy in celebrating another year of life. Truly by the age of twelve he found joy in very little...always constantly on alert, never knowing from where Christian would suddenly appear or what pain he'd wish to inflict. He wouldn't be able to stop, he never could, but by throwing the first punch he alone would suffer his older brother's wrath. Or he would have if not for his twin's refusal to see reason. Never allowing Grant to bare the full brunt of Christian's rage, she would first use what little sense God granted her and first spirit Tommy away from the carnage...before she leapt upon their elder sibling and sunk her teeth deeply into the nearest expanse of bare flesh. A choice that never ended well for Darcy, as she'd always end up the worst off because of it. To many times Grant had picked his sister up off the floor barley conscious and carried her up to the bathroom to tend to her cuts. Where he would beg her...and then when that failed to persuade...berated her stupidity...Darcy would jut out her chin (regardless of the throbbing pain in her head or just how much the world was spinning) and remind him of that where he went she would always follow. Whether it be across the globe or to a violent pummeling; she would always follow. After all she was the older of the two...even if it was by only five minutes...and that it was her job to protect him. Always never ceasing to amaze him just how much she loved him...to willingly put herself through agony to spare him what little pain she could. Darcy had been the only person that ever put him first and in the moments where he was washing blood from her hair or wrapping her swollen wrist...he almost hated her for it. It should have been him...even a twelve he already toward over her five foot frame...he was stronger than her...maybe not emotionally but physically and every time she wince in pain or gnawed her lower lip to stifle a cry of pain, he wished more than anything that their positions were reversed.

Grant was already a little bitter and broken,while somehow Darcy could still find joy in the most meaningless of things. Like birthdays. Unlike her twin, Darcy Rebecca Ward loved birthdays. She would spend months searching for the perfect gift and once she found it would spend hours meticulously wrapping it and hiding it away from Christian's prying eyes and sticky fingers. Even with as much thought as she put into gifts, that perfectly expressed just how deeply she adored the recipient, (proven by the cheap Velcro wallet and truly disturbing clown figurine their father and elder brother received that Christmas) she never cared how much effort went into her own. Grant had sadly never been great at giving gifts...so while he opened up a collection of James Bond movies (Connery) or tickets to a ballgame she would be unwrapping a stuffed animal or lotion gift set. However she always acted as if he had given her the Crown Jewels. It was that honest happiness glimmering in her blue eyes that kept him tethered to land instead of willingly casting himself a drift in the darkness of their grim circumstances.

All to soon that happiness was stolen from him. He'd just turned fourteen and had finally succeeded in getting the upper hand over his abuser. In the grand scheme of things a broken nose and a few cracked ribs was less than he deserved...dear old dad hadn't seen it that way. Despite his cruelty and tenuous grip on sanity, Christian had always been the favored son. Even after his own wife-and their mother-had fled in fear for her safety, Carter Ward would not hear one uncharitable word about his eldest son (and there had been many, from neighbors, teachers, and principles...not to mention his younger children). So it was Grant that was shipped off to military school (the one place hid devoted twin couldn't follow). Leaving the two most important people in his life vulnerable to the whims of a mad man and a disinterested father.

Months went by and all he had to comfort him were the weekly letters from Darcy and Tommy. They spoke little of Christian or their father, choosing instead to regale him with tedious high school drama. Never one mention of the no doubt numerous beatings they had faced alone in his absence. Every question he asked of their physical wellbeing was artfully dodged by Darcy; Tommy wasn't as skilled at the art of misdirection as their older sister...his letters had been a bit more telling. According to his rambling letters Tommy had been spending more time than not at his friends house. Carter never cared where his youngest was as long as he wasn't underfoot; and Mrs. Drake always seemed to know everything at the Ward home was not all puppies and rainbows and never put up a fuss. With so much time spent away from home his exposure to Christian's ire was kept to a bare minimum. A cause for some relief, of course, but daddy dearest was much more strict with his only daughters whereabouts...as she was expected to do the 'woman's work' after their mother's departure. Leaving every moment of her evenings spent as a prisoner in her own home.

Months had gone by before the inevitable finally occurred...his sister was in the hospital...as a result of a 'mugging'. Doctors had been skeptical but with the angelic Christian claiming to be a witness and Darcy unable to say otherwise...unless she want more than a moderate concussion, fractured orbital, and broken wrist. Actually shattered probably would've been a better word...as Darcy needed surgery if she had any hope of mobility in her wrist. His brothers smudged tear stained letter had been the final straw. By the end of the week he'd broken out of his military 'prison' hot wired a car and drove the nearly hundred miles home.

The best time to commit a crime in idlic suburbia was in the middle of the day. Everyone away at work (or for the few housewives in his neighborhood either doing errands or scouring their homes clean) their was no one to tattle on him except Mrs. Framers ancient dog. Even had Hans, the ill named poodle, been able to give his account he spent his every day in his doghouse snoring the afternoon away. With Darcy's afternoons now consisting of school and physical therapy (with Tommy tagging along) and his lackluster parent preoccupied with bending his secretary over every flat surface and Christian no doubt up to similar pursuits, the three story home on Maple Court stood empty.

To a desperate fourteen year old...arson seemed simple enough. A little flammable liquid and a dropped match and poof instant inferno...only not so much. The fire department had arrived more quickly than he expected and caught him as he tried to make his getaway. He also never would have expected to see a fire fighter helping a singed and hacking Christian out of the house. Attempted arson had just made the jump to attempted murder.

Darcy had been nearly inconsolable when she came rushing into the police station. It was only because of her crocodile tears and a soft hearted lieutenant they even allowed her into his cell. The cursing laced ranted she hit him with had been...colorful...and fairly inventive. Darcy had promised to testify for him, bare every dirty...shameful secret their family possessed, and she would have without thought of repercussions or her own safety. Grant had been the one to squash that selfless notion swiftly beneath his military issued boot.

With his brother and father both pushing for the maximum sentence and his sister silenced it had been no surprise when he had been confined to Juvie pending trial. One he never made it too. After only three weeks John Garrett had come calling with an offer.

Freedom.

A tempting notion...and a feeling he had never known.

Garrett would even train him...teach him to survive.

It hadn't been a hard choice to make...his only stipulation was he wanted Darcy and Tommy. Somehow Garrett would need to get them out of that nightmare they called home and he would bow to his every command. For a moment Jon's yes had gone cold...before he smiled and gave his word.

A promise he would never be able to keep.

After being left in the woods Garrett had driven off with the promise that he was going to collect his siblings. He didn't return for months and when he did he came with only a dog. The news he carried was grim. Garrett had gone back to Massachusetts like he promised only both Darcy and Tommy were gone. 'Missing, the police said. Gone only a few days after you disappeared from lockup. Your father told them they were more than likely with you. That you'd all planned it that way. There no trail...no leads...you don't need me to tell you what that means, son...'

Dead.

Garrett didn't need to finish...it was a possibility Grant had always feared.

In a fatherly manner he'd gripped Grant by his trembling shoulders and stared into his wet eyes. 'Caring makes you weak,kid...this pain that you feel now...never forget it. This is what caring does."

He'd never forgotten.

Never cared for anyone other than Buddy his faithful dog...and only companion for nearly half a decade.

That one Garrett had taken away with ruthless ease.

Years later he went into SHIELDs Ops academy on his orders. Joined SHIELD and worked to further Garrett's and Hydras agenda.

Then he'd been pulled out of Paris...and in a whirlwind had become the specialist on Coulson's rag-tag team of misfits. His mission had been simple. Infiltrate Coulson's team, gain their trust, and discover the secret of Coulson's miraculous recovery, and most of all don't form attachments. It should have been easy, Grant had done it hundreds of times before.

Only somehow something had changed.

He'd been compromised.

Somehow this motley crew had found away around his walls.

They'd come for him (and Fitz) when Hand planned to leave them for dead. As his SO, Garrett had no doubt known. Despite his assignment to Coulson's team every mission he was assigned was made known to his supervising officer, per SHIELD protocol...for safety purposes. Because any asset could be broken given enough time. Names, locations, classified data it could all come tumbling down in one moment of weakness.

It hadn't been Garrett that came swooping in to save his miserable life, (a life Darcy would have been ashamed of) but Calvary had.

Grant was supposed to save them, throw himself into the line of fire to gain their trust...not the other way around.

He was expendable, Garrett had made that clear over the years. He was good...better than good...with espionage skills nearly as high as Romanov...and an uncanny knack for survival...he was valuable...but not irreplaceable. Garrett could always find another mole. He never thanked him, his compliments were always tinged with threat, and his approval depend upon degree of success. As a teen Grant had believed he'd cared for him...in his own way. With Darcy and Tommy gone he at least needed the illusion.

The cold hard facts however...was Garrett cared for no one...he didn't abide such a weakness. And he sure as hell didn't give a damn about wether Grant Ward lived or died...might have even been happy about it if he did...as long as it furthered his own ends.

Grant may not like John Garrett, but he owed him his life.

Just like he owed the memories of Darcy and Tommy for possessing the tattered shreds of his humanity.

Reclining back in his bunk, Grant dug his head deeper into his pillow and let his eyelids drooped closed and his mind began to drift. As always Darcy was waiting for him there...in that haze between sleep and wakefulness. Her blue eyes gazed at him sadly and held out a hand he could never reach. Her lips moved slowly...although no sound left them...by now he new the words by heart...haunted him. 'Find me,Grant' it was the same nearly every night...and every time he remembered those words, pleading eyes, and desperately reaching hand...he wished he could be like Garrett; and not feel the same God damned agony he felt that overcast day in the woods.

His sister began to retreat as he dropped closer to the blissful oblivion of sleep...

"Everyone report to command."

Grant jerked in surprise and nearly tumbled out of bed. Shaking his head to clear the fog he tossed aside his wrinkled blankets and clambered to his feet. Not bothering with shoes he grabbed a clean shirt and pulled it on as he headed out the door. Grant nearly collided with a sleepy zombie like Fitz as the engineer doing his best Hulk impression, as he passed by. Scowling face, mussed hair, and a heavy lumbering march toward the stairs...it was miles better than any impressions Fitz had ever done of him. Rolling his eyes Grant followed after him...ready to grab him if he felt the younger man was going to face plant on his way down the stairs.

By the time they reached command Coulson, Simmons, and Skye were leaning over the Holo-table. Still grumpiness personified Fitz lurched forward, nearly plowing into Melinda as she appeared. Due only to her cat like reflexes they avoid a collision...that probably would have ended with Fitz in a world of pain. Allowing the older agent to slip in before him. By the time he joined the team at the table a whir of security footage was projected up from the surface of the table, for all to see.

"Approximately two hours ago...aliens...little armored aliens...invaded London." Coulson announced blandly.

"Thor!" Skye whispered in near reverence as the Asgardian appeared on screen, landing on one knee...his red cape billowing back in the wind...and hammer in hand. If it wasn't such a serious matter, Grant would have rolled his eyes at the movie quality shot on display in downtown London.

FitzSimmons too were gaping at the display...tho Jemma may have been drooling just a touch.

"Thor, Selvig, Lewis, and Foster are on site...with an unknown...According to reports were able to contain those...whatever they are...for the most part. Nearly half of the buildings along the Thames have sustained heavy damage...and that's just the ones Lewis and Foster haven't been the direct cause of. They seem to have some type of warping device. Aliens go in...come out outside Buckingham Palace. Doubt the royals are very pleased." Coulson added dryly.

"Are we going there? London I mean not Buckingham Palace...tho I wouldn't mind..." Skye began only to be cut off by Coulson.

"Yes, orders came down. Fury wants us on site to help with damage control. FitzSimmons you'll be working with SHIELDs London branch of the sciops division combing through debris for alien tech. Last thing we need is another race of alien tech falling into the hands of the general populace. Ward and I will be liaising wit Thor and Dr. Foster's team, while May will stay on site." Coulson didn't fight the urge to roll his eyes when Simmons nearly swooned at the mention of Foster's name and Fitz nearly went into fits of ecstasy at 'warping device'.

"Skye." Coulson nodded toward his newest protege. With quick fly of her fingers Selvig and Foster's files appeared.

"Foster is needless to say not our biggest fan. Apparently some people get very touchy when someone commanders your life's work..." Coulson trailed of with a chagrined shrug. Fitzsimmon glared back at him, affronted on the behalf for their absent science sister.

"But it's more Dr. Foster's intern Lewis,you'll have to be mindful of...as she's still a bit miffed that we confiscated her I-Pod and...misplaced it. In fact she demonstrated her displeasure at SHIELDs last check in. In which she more than likely sterilized Sitwell. Miss Lewis' preferred greeting for us 'Jackbooted Thugs'..." Coulson added air quotes to the moniker. Grant bit back a snort, granted he never much cared for Sitwell but getting tazed in the balls and shot in the chest by two untrained women was uplifting to his bedraggled spirt. Skye turned back to her work bringing up a third file. Grant barely gave the file and accompanying file, to caught up in the grainy security footage and shaky cell phone videos.

"...as she likes to call us is thirty thousand volts straight to the genitals. So please beware when in her vicinity...because if it leads to confrontation Thor may flatten you, and God only knows what Foster will do. Their a...ugh very protective bunch. Selvig is easy to manage...but according to reports has lost his love for pants...so just a word of warning eyes up at all times." He gave them all stern pointed looks, obviously not in the mood to be squashed by a miffed alien or beamed to worlds unknown by a scorned scientist.

The picture that appeared before him, had Grant swiftly jerking back and away from the table...nearly sending Fitz sprawling in his haste. His lungs seized as his rapid breaths were only just south of hyperventilating. His hands began to tremble and his tanned skin took on an ashen like quality. All in all he looked as if he had just seen a ghost...because he had. God it couldn't be...but it was the same piercing blue eyes, their Gramzy's slightly to large nose, the same attachment to colorful woolen hats. Dimly he could hear the team call for him, trying to break through his decidedly uncharacteristic display...of shock...terror...or...hope. Grant could only imagine the degrees of emotions he was displaying over his normally stoic face. How? Garrett had basically declared her dead. Fourteen years he'd believed his sister dead, beaten to death in one of Christian's rages. But there she was in a candid picture no doubt taken by a surveillance team with a telephoto lens. The only changes he could see was her hair was no longer cut in a sever bob (Christian had a thing about catching her by the hair) but long and wavy and a slim pair of dark rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose. It was her...Darcy...it had to...unless his sister had doppelgänger running around Europe taseing government agents in the balls.

Hope and unbridled elation flowed through his veins...those fourteen years of pain a distant fading memory of a past break. Darcy was alive...somehow...someway...she'd managed. A million questions flew unbidden to mind. How had she done it? Was she searching or him? Did she spend nights gazing up at the moon wondering where he was...or simply remembering? So many questions and not a single answer to be found in the few pages in her file.

"Ward!" Simmons called her, voice beginning to take on an air of panic...and gave his bare forearm a firm pinch.

"Fuck." He snapped, jerking away from the sudden onset of painful stimuli.

All around him the team gazed at him with varying levels of concern. Skye taking on the stunned appearance of a beached trout, gaping at him, while concerned...slightly frightened...eyes bore into him. Coulson was more subtle with his concern only letting it show once Grant met his eyes, while May watched him keenly. FitzSimmons seemed more concerned he'd had some type of fit.

"Ward?" Coulson spoke up, the question a probing one.

"She's my sister."


End file.
